Endless Night by D.K. Holmberg

to lead you away from your home?”
    She nodded. “I don’t know where he intended to bring me. But there was greenish light all around, and I could feel the power he promised me. Almost as if I could touch it. But the lizard, nobelas, pushed me back.”
    “He promised you power?”
    She nodded.
    “From what I have learned, you must have power, nya’shin, or he would not have wanted you. All Tenebeth cares about is those with power. He can’t provide it if they don’t already possess it.”
    “But I’m not a shaper. I have no power.”
    He spun and grabbed her j’na in a single, fast motion. His hands were a blur as he spun it. Then he slammed it against the ground.
    Unlike when Ciara used the j’na like that, there was no sharp crack , there was nothing like the power she managed to summon. Cheneth eyed the staff as if expecting it to do something more, and when it didn’t he lifted it again, readying to slam it into the ground.
    Ciara grabbed it from him. “Your technique is wrong,” she told him. “See what you have to do?” She flicked the spear, and it struck the hard rock of this part of the mountains, loosing such a loud crack that it sounded like thunder and reminded her of the warriors appearing on their shaping. She took another step and slammed it into the ground again, this time with another flick of her wrist, leading to another crack. Power pulsed as she did, and she could feel the shaping already starting to build. Many more like this, and she would summon… what? The draasin? The lizard? Something else?
    What good would it be if she had no control over what she summoned? What good would her ability, whatever this was, be if she never knew what it meant or how to use it?
    Ciara paused.
    Cheneth stepped forward. “Do not stop.”
    “But I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what will come.”
    “What comes is what must come. There is intent behind your dance, and the power that you draw with your shaping.”
    “This is no shaping.”
    “Ah, my dear nya’shin, what else could it be if not a shaping?” He pointed to the spear. “Please. Continue.”
    Ciara held the spear and flicked it again. Crack . Another flick. This time, the spear bounced, less than the solid crack and more of a snap as it struck the stone. She moved her feet, feeling that smaller steps were safer here, and sent the staff into the ground again. And again. And again.
    Wind whistled around her, writhing around her arms and her face, pulling at the thick cloak she wore, sliding down her spear.
    She looked at Cheneth, who eyed her with an intense interest, watching to see what would happen.
    “You must continue,” he said, this time more softly.
    “What is it?”
    “Don’t you feel it?” he asked. “Don’t you feel what you have done?”
    “I feel the wind pulling on me. I feel the way it seemed to try to tear the j’na from my hand. I feel it, but I don’t know what it is or what it is that I do.”
    “You are calling the wind,” he said. “And you must continue.”
    She kept flicking the spear into the ground. As she went, the force required to do it changed, and she felt as if the wind almost guided her hands, showing her how to place the spear to lessen the impact on the stone. Ciara continued and the wind increased, growing into a powerful torrent. She could almost imagine she saw faces appear in the wind, but then they passed.
    Over time, her arm grew tired, and she slowed her steps, letting the j’na settle back to the ground. When she finally stopped, the wind had settled, though she could still feel the way it curled through her hair, along her arms, and slipped around her j’na. There was the sense that if she only reached into the wind that ran along the j’na, she could control it, but that sense faded, leaving her with something like an aching within her.
    “What was that?” she asked Cheneth.
    “That was a call to the wind. Do you remember what you did?”
    Ciara thought about